Smells Like Team Spirit
by dress without sleeves
Summary: Comfort begets comfort. The team sits in the waiting room of the hospital after locating Sara. Slight CatherineWarrick, barely recognizeable NickGreg and a big pot of GSR.


**Author's Notes:** Okay. Well. Season 7 opener on Monday . . . eep! Sara, seriously. Please don't be dead. I'm pretty sure I would have a melt down.

Also, I'm not sure where this came from. I tried to make it as in-character as possible . . . but I can't help my little romantic self from sprinkling the whole situation with a bit of philosophy and gooey mushy unrequited love.

What can I say? I'm sixteen. That's what we do.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. I think my muse might be coming back. :)

Smells Like Team Spirit

_For George Eads and Eric Semandza_

_It's not that I think you're gay._

_You're just too good an opportunity to pass up._

Sara was going to be okay.

Catherine ran the words over in her mind, too unsure to let them near her tongue. Sara was going to be okay.

She breathed deeply, eyes roving across the waiting room walls, following the patterns of the wallpaper. Grissom was the first to interrupt her distraction; he sat hunched over, fists working around each other, eyes darting back and forth as if he was sure one of the other visitors was planning a hostile take over.

Catherine felt comfortable declaring that no one without a degree and at least forty years of history working in the medical profession was getting into Sarah's bedroom without a fight.

She thought of his words, shock still lingering at the edges of the memory. _The only thing I ever loved._ She decided to make a point of not being offended; Grissom had meant his words romantically. Still, she couldn't help being a bit impressed: Sara had dedicated six years of hard work to winning over Gil Grissom, and no matter how odd or bizarre she thought the relationship, Catherine rewarded nothing if not perseverance.

Warrick appeared beside her and lowered himself into an empty seat. "What a day," he muttered, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

She laughed humorlessly, patting his knee. "I still can't believe she's alive."

"I can't believe Grissom is out here and not hiding under her bed," Warrick returned with a good-natured grin, eyes crinkled around the corners. The comment deserved a smile, so Catherine gave him one, because she half-knows he's mostly in love with her.

They sat in silence, her hand still on his knee, when the thought struck: "You know, everyone around here is starting to pair off."

Warrick chuckled. "Yes, well, from one nocturnal to another, who else keeps our schedule?" He smiled wryly. "I've grown to love the sight of my wife's eyelids."

Catherine shook her head, thinking of the sound of Lindsay's calm, quiet breathing. "It could have been any of us," she whispered, the idea fisting around her chest and squeezing so tight that it was suddenly hard to breath. "That could have been me."

"And why was it Nick that got buried in that box? Why was last week's DB in the Bellagio fountain a seventeen-year-old girl and not me? It's all just . . . coincidence. Or fate, if you believe in it." She felt his fingers entwine with hers, his callused skin drifting across her smooth palm. "Don't think about it." Warrick heaved a sigh and she leaned her head against his shoulder. She felt him shift beneath her and could feel his eyes on her scalp. "Wait a minute. Pair off? Grissom and Sara are the only couple on the team."

Catherine winced, silently cursing her loose, tired tongue. "Well, romantically, yeah." She sat up and looked at him with a half-smile. "But everyone knows who the doubles are. Grissom and Sara. You and me. Nick and . . ." she trailed off, frowning thoughtfully. "Who's left for Nick?"

"Me." Both Catherine and Warrick glanced up to see Greg collapse into a chair across the coffee table. He kicked his feet onto the mess of magazines and catalogues.

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "Got a crush on Nick, Sanders?"

Greg poked his tongue out, a childish gesture beneath his uncharacteristically tired eyes. "That's not what I meant. I'm a CSI now, so if Grissom and Sara are doing the dirty, and you two are . . . well, whatever you are, then that leaves me with Nick."

Catherine smiled a little; she had to admit, Nick and Greg did make a good team. They were opposites; Nick acted like an anchor to keep Greg from floating away-- but at the same time, Greg lifted Nick just a little out of that gentlemanly Texan hole he often found himself in.

"All right," she acquiesced, "you and Nick can play doubles."

She felt Warrick laugh against her and Greg cracked a smile. "Kinky, Cath. Maybe we could all get together and play teams?"

She rolled her eyes and kicked out at him, but a small smile worked against her lips. She felt Warrick squeeze her hand. "Can I bring Tina?" He asked dryly. "She claims to be great at tennis."

"Oh, sure," Greg crowed enthusiastically, "It'll be a party."

"Party?" Nick's deep, tired voice sounded like the tumble dryer on low; Catherine couldn't help the hum of pleasure as he sat. How the boy remained unmarried with a drawl like that was beyond her.

"Tennis match," she corrected. "Me and Rick, Gris and Sara, you and Greggo."

Nick made a face, cuffing Greg around the neck. "How'd I get stuck with the rockstar?" He complained good-naturedly.

"My spunk and zest will pick up the slack of that slow-moving Texan in you," Greg came back instantly, a smug smile on his face. Nick knocked him hard from behind, shaking his head.

"Well, how'd you manage to get Warrick, Cath?"

They shared a look and she quietly slipped her hand out of his. "Our combined good looks make us the ultimate team," he answered, sending a sideways wink.

"Grissom and Sara . . ." Nick began, shaking his head. "I never saw it coming."

Warrick snorted. "You can say that again." He shot at look at Greg. "But don't." Greg held up his hands in a gesture of innocence, but the grin on his mouth told a different story.

"I never saw it coming."

All four heads swiveled; sometime after Catherine's last glance Grissom had made his way over to his team. She blinked, halfway between relieved at his steady voice and embarrassed at the conversation; then he smiled a little. "I guess you never see love until it hits you."

Greg chanced a look at Nick, whose eyes were downcast and steady on his hands. Catherine felt Warrick glance at her; she kept her gaze carefully trained on Grissom. "Listen, Gris. I just-- _we_ just want you to know . . . none of us have any sort of-- of _problem_, with-- " He watched her flounder, an amused little half-smile on his face. Bastard. "-- you know," she finished helplessly, gesturing vaguely in the air.

"I appreciate that," he answered quietly, thankfully. Then he grinned, a real grin, one she hadn't thought she'd see for months. "But as much as it thrills me to hear, I hope you understand that _you_ weren't the reason we never . . . exposed our relationship. Your approval means a lot to me, but even if you hadn't accepted us it wouldn't have changed things."

Warrick frowned. "Well if it wasn't us, why didn't you ever say anything?"

Grissom shrugged, sobering again. "I can't remember now," he murmured. "Privacy?"

He looked over their heads at Sara's door, eyes mere worried slits. Catherine watched him fist his hands into each other once more, and reached out on impulse to pull him down into an empty seat. He linked their fingers but didn't look at her. "Sara is going to be okay, Gil," she told him, crossing her fingers that the comfort wasn't a lie. Warrick wrapped his arm around her shoulders; Nick shot her a half smile and covered her and Grissom's hands with his own.

"Go team," he joked.


End file.
